


Crashing the Mode

by njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Amnesia, Angst, BAMF Tim Drake, Dick still takes away Robin, Drama, Humor, JayTim Week, JayTimBINGO2019, M/M, Soulmates, Surprisingly close to canon for a Space AU, Temporary Character Death, Vigilantes in SPACE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: This can’t be happening.“You said we’d be okay,” Tim whispers, the corners of his mouth pulling down as his heart thuds dully. His fists clench at his sides. “My entire life has burnt down!Again!”He makes a sweeping gesture around the chamber without turning, not wanting to look. The sight of Damian Wayne sneering smugly down at him from the viewscreen of the Robin,his ship,is already permanently burned into his retinas. “I don't call thisokay,Dick.”*For thetumblr Jaytim month(ish) 2019week four free prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clarityhiding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Chibinightowl for the marvelous beta! 
> 
> I had lots of extra ideas about SPACE once we decided on the round robin story for Clarityhiding’s birthday [(check it out here!)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319418), so I went ahead and made them into this story. It was fun practice writing SPACE before doing my contribution to the official gift. Happy birthday, Clarityhiding, and I hope you like the extra present!
> 
> Enjoy!

The silence in the cavernous main chamber of the hollowed-out asteroid presses in on Tim as he tries and fails to process the enormity of his current situation. He’s in the Bats’ primary space dock and base, somewhere he’s supposed to _belong, _but he feels anything but welcome right now_._

This can’t be real. It _can’t._

Dick doesn’t even bother to turn and look at him, instead continuing to study the three-dimensional holographic maps of space which surround him. Recent pirate attacks on freighters are shown as glaring red spheres. It looks like he’s trying to triangulate the location of the pirates’ base. The line of his shoulders is tense, the stress of having leadership of the Bats thrust upon him after Bruce’s sudden death—no, _absence_, Tim’s sure there’s more to the story if only someone would just _listen _to him_—_clearly taking its toll. He fights down a rising sense of hysteria.

This is like a waking nightmare, except he doesn’t know how to make it _stop. _If only he could just wake up and have everything in his life go back to normal.

_This can’t be happening._

“You said we’d be okay,” Tim whispers, the corners of his mouth pulling down as his heart thuds dully. His fists clench at his sides. “My entire life has burnt down! _Again!”_ He makes a sweeping gesture around the chamber without turning, not wanting to look. The sight of Damian Wayne sneering smugly down at him from the viewscreen of the Robin, _his ship_, is already permanently burned into his retinas. “I don't call this _okay_, Dick.”

It isn’t. It_ really_ isn’t. Not now, so soon after losing his best friends. Kon, _Bart… _He’s _certain _the unique energy reading that permeated the wreckage of both their ships, Superboy and Impulse, is a clue to their true fate. The fact that the exact same readings were present when the Bat was destroyed has only cemented his convictions.

Too bad no one’s willing to consider the possibility, not when they’re all grieving themselves. Tim _knows _what this looks like. He’s lost his soulmate—not that anyone but him knows about _that_—his parents, his best friends, and the closest thing he had left to a father, all within a few years. But he doesn’t need sympathy or pity, he needs someone to _believe _him. Just a show of support, a little help as he figures out what happened to the others and tries to determine if there’s a way to undo it.

Looks like he’s not going to get what he wants.

Dick Grayson, the man he’s looked up to since he was a toddler and loved like a brother since he was thirteen, doesn’t even look up as he speaks. “He’s my responsibility now. You’re not my protegee, Tim...”

All he hears is that Damian is _something _to Dick, and Tim himself… isn’t.

The man continues, hands frozen in place on the three-dimensional holograms the only sign this conversation is beginning to distract him from his work. “You’re my equal. My closest ally. You’ll be okay.” Dick’s shoulders are tense, but he still hasn’t turned to face him.

Apparently, he doesn’t even merit the older man’s full attention. That realization hurts like a punch in the gut even as his words send Tim spinning. How the hell can he consider this _okay?_ Why, why isn’t he important enough for Dick to just _keep?_

Dick still won’t look at him. “But him… Tim, you know better than anyone that left on his own, he’s going to kill someone, _again._ You have to understand…”

_Understand what? That Bruce’s actual son showed up, hands stained with blood, attacked me more than once, and even so he’s still _better _than me? More important, a real part of the family… your responsibility. Your protegee, now. While I’m apparently just getting in the way._

“No, I don’t.” His throat tightens painfully. There are other ways, more reasonable ways to deal with this situation if Dick wanted to show Tim he mattered at all. The older man could have _talked _to him, offered him a different ship, even. Made it clear he was still wanted, still part of the team.

The fact that he didn’t…

Tim swallows tightly, jaw clenching. “This is all I have now.” His eyes feel hot and his voice sounds uncomfortably close to begging.

_Please, Dick… Don’t do this. Don’t throw me away._

Another voice, extremely unwelcome, pipes up from behind them. “Oh, are _you _still here?”

Tim turns, eyes narrow. “You have _got _to be kidding me.” Apparently, it isn’t enough he’s being kicked out of the closest thing he has left to a family. No, of course not. He has to be completely humiliated by the little _brat _who’s taken his place first.

Damian Wayne, clad in a small version of Tim’s pilot gear as though to add insult to injury, smirks at him with the complacent satisfaction of someone who knows he’s won. “We’ll have to upgrade security now. Keep out the riff-raff.” He’s standing in front of the Robin’s berth, the sleek ship rising behind him resplendent with red and black and only the barest hints of green. Tim’s redesign, with added stealth tech after what happened to the previous pilot. To… _Jason. _He swallows, eyes suddenly stinging. He’d poured his heart and what’s left of his soul into preserving the previous pilot’s legacy and making it so the Robin not only continued to fly, it _soared._

Well, the Robin’s going to have a hell of a different legacy from now on, with the little former assassin as its new pilot.

The brat’s words _hurt, _underscoring as they do the fact that Tim is no longer welcome here in what has been his home. He feels another stab of pain and betrayal. “How can you let him fly that ship, Dick?” The Robin has always been a symbol of hope. Its pilots have _always _stood on the side of life. Apparently, that’s not as important as he’d thought. Not anymore. “What ‘verse are we in that you choose _him _over _me?”_

His pained question goes unanswered… at least, by the person to whom it was addressed.

The assassin _child _who _took his ship _sneers at him as he turns to walk away, back toward the ship that isn’t Tim’s anymore. Maybe never truly was. “Don’t be so sensitive, _Drake.”_

Dick finally speaks again, but only to say, “Damian, shut up, _now.”_

_Too little, too late._

Tim stares in disbelief as Dick just shrugs helplessly at him while the little brat sneers in triumph.

_This can’t be happening,_ he thinks to himself, unable to comprehend the possibility that all his years of sacrifice, of hardship, of actually feeling like he’s part of something…

Are over.

Not at the behest of a spoiled little brat whose only claim to a part of all of this is that Bruce Wayne had a _whoops_ moment with a famed assassin high in the League about a decade ago and accidentally made a kid.

It’s not like he expected this to last forever, honestly. After his parents’ deaths, he’d really only hoped to do some good in the ‘verse before going out himself, probably in some fiery explosion, hopefully while saving someone.

Not… like _this._ He hadn’t ever imagined for a moment he’d just be pushed out, shunted aside in favor of a ferocious little gremlin fresh from the League of fragging Assassins. He’s lost so _much._ So many of the people he loved are gone. And now…

The Robin.

The ship, _his _ship, the one he’s flown long enough he knows every nook, cranny, and quirk, is gone. Dick took it away without so much as a by-your-leave. He only found out when he tried to board in order to conduct routine maintenance, and the hatch no longer responded to his command codes.

His gear was left in a scattered heap at the edge of the landing pad, without even the barest modicum of respect or care.

Honestly, couldn’t they have at least given him a box? Maybe a crate or paper bag in deference to his years of service, if nothing else?

Suddenly, his grief is overcome by a rising sense of_ fury_. How dare they throw him away after everything he’s given to the Bats? This isn’t fair, not even close.

Dick’s attention is finally on him. He’s reaching for him now, looking grief-stricken, but Tim doesn’t want to hear whatever excuse or equivocation he’s planning to try. Nothing he can say now will make this right or change the facts.

_I wasn’t good enough. That’s what this comes down to. Dick and Jason were both chosen for their aptitude. I just figured out Bruce’s secret that he’s actually the vigilante pilot of the Bat who leads missions to do what Central Worlds can’t to defend the innocent. I showed up on his doorstep knowing all _that, _and he was trapped. Of course he took me in and trained me to fly the Robin, what else could he do?_

_Now everyone thinks I’m emotionally unstable. It makes sense to cut their losses. Especially considering there’s another pilot ready to go, a better one..._

His eyes sting and he swallows, hating the internal admission. But it’s true. Damian was trained from his birth onward to maintain and fly every existing major class of spaceship, and it _shows_. The kid takes too many risks and is definitely far too cavalier when it comes to understanding the importance of protecting _every _life, even those of criminals… but he’s a _damn_ good pilot.

Tim had to work like hell for _years _to get to the level he’s at, and the ten year-old is already his match in technical proficiency. The knowledge burns, but not as much as the realization that Dick must have seen it, too. Everyone must have noticed.

And _that’s_ the real reason why he’s not flying the Robin anymore.

He blinks past the sudden blur of tears in his eyes just long enough to squint, then reaches out to manipulate the holograms surrounding Dick and zoom in on what’s almost certainly the pirates’ base, flagging it for investigation.

_You’re welcome, _he thinks bitterly as he shoulders past a stunned Dick. He flushes in furious shame as he pauses to gather up his pathetic little pile of possessions before hurrying on. Damian’s mocking laughter follows him as he strides rapidly past the berths of the main fleet, the newly reconstructed stealth ship the Bat glistening ominously beside the Nightwing, mothballed indefinitely because its pilot is now flying the Bat.

_Not for long. I’ll still find a way to bring Bruce back, just wait and see._

What happened to Bruce _isn’t_ like when Jason—his mind stutters on the thought but he brutally forces himself to finish it—when Jason _died,_ and the explosion completely destroyed that iteration of the Robin with him in it. All that was left was a debris field stretched over several parsecs of space and Jason himself was lost, everything he ever was reduced to atoms with nothing physically left for them to grieve.

In contrast, the Bat was hit by a unique energy field in the moments before it was blown up, and Tim is _certain _once they study and properly understand the effects of that field, there will be a chance to get Bruce back. Along with Kon and Bart, maybe, although he doesn’t have the same level of accuracy in the readings from their ships’ destruction sites.

But it doesn’t matter, because no one is willing to _listen. _Even Cassie, who arguably should have been the most empathetic considering Kon was her soulmate, made it clear she didn’t believe him. He shakes it off. Even if _no one _will help, he still needs to find a way to prove himself right and save them.

The stealth ship Blackbat and frontline fighter Batgirl are missing, both out on missions in the Outer Ring trying to gather intel on a slaver ring. He’s grateful, if only because it means there are fewer people here to witness his humiliation. He hears Dick calling after him, then Damian’s voice rises up, probably in an effort to hoard the older man’s attention.

Good.

The last thing Tim needs right now is to listen to more reasons why he isn’t good enough.

He finally reaches the end of the primary dock chamber and takes a sharp right, moving down a short corridor before entering the secondary dock area where the smaller, more specialized ships are stored. Civilian transports, freighters, sleek shuttles, and everything else the Bats might need to assist on missions for which their more well-known fighter vehicles are not appropriate.

Tim selects a sleek little skimmer, the type designed for use in-system and completely unsuitable for deep space. It fits his purposes perfectly. He lays his palm on the touchpad, exhaling in relief as tension he wasn’t even aware of leaves his body when the hatch slides smoothly open.

_At least they didn’t lock me out of _all _the systems yet._

He enters, relaxing further when the entrance closes behind him with a soft whoosh. He lays in a course for Gotham, selecting the private landing facility on the Wayne Manor grounds.

The comms beep with a message from Dick which automatically plays because he hasn’t set them to silent mode yet. The other man’s voice sounds weary. “I see you’re heading back home. Just… Be safe, okay? We’ll talk later, once everyone’s had a chance to cool off.”

_Yeah, sure we will. Goodbye, Dick._

Tim doesn’t bother with an answer as he waits for the dock to seal the area around the skimmer’s berth. After depressurization is complete, the bay doors open and he maneuvers the skimmer out of the base. This might be the last time he sees the asteroid, and he’s missing the view because his vision’s still so annoyingly blurry.

Whatever. He can’t really afford sentimentality right now, not when he’s all alone for the first time in a long while. He allows the autopilot to navigate him through the rest of the asteroid belt and then makes directly for Gotham.

The dark planet looms in the viewscreen, grays and sullen greens swirling together as the perpetually gloomy world draws ever nearer. The skimmer beeps cheerily to let him know when it enters orbit, advancing steadily toward the far side of the planet. Once the planet’s bulk is between him and the Cave, Tim activates the holointerface and rapidly keys in his emergency protocols. In moments, the skimmer goes entirely dark, no longer sending any information back to Base. Or rather, any _accurate _information.

As far as the Bats know, Tim’s landing on Gotham right now, returning to the Manor to lick his wounds. Dick’s probably trying to figure out how to gently let him know he’s no longer welcome there now that he’s not a Bat. Poor Alfred’s probably busy packing the rest of his things, getting ready to convert his bedroom back into the guestroom it was for so long.

Well, he’ll save them the trouble.

The interface flickers, waiting for him to input new destination coordinates. He stares for a long moment, slowly realizing he really doesn’t have anywhere to go. His bridges with the Bats are burned, his best friends are dead and gone, and he hasn’t had a family in years. Even if he’d thought… But he was wrong about that, clearly. As for his soulmate, well, _that’s _another loss he’ll always carry with him.

_At least I might be able to save Kon, Bart, and Bruce. That has to be my main focus now. Everything else—where I’m going to live, what I’m going to do, who I’m going to do it with—all of that can wait._

Swallowing, Tim quickly inputs a course to the nearest in-system station so he can transfer to a better transport. Then he leans back and begins mentally mapping a randomized route which will _eventually_ lead him to one of the frontier planets on which the mostly-defunct Drake Consortium still maintains a physical location. It’s time to enact one of his numerous contingency plans… one he had hoped he’d never need. This particular base is extremely minor, so it isn’t likely the Bats would even think to look for him there.

Not that they’ll care to look, anyway.

The skimmer hums as it adjusts to the new course, and Tim finally allows the tears to fall unchecked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, attempting to take Robin from Tim’s clutches: ** “Just gonna snag this back now—” *Frowns as Tim doesn’t let go. Pulls harder. Eventually has to claw each of Tim’s fingers off individually* “There we go! Here, Dami! No hard feelings, right Tim?”  
**Damian, grinning and smug with victory: ** “Now all have recognized you as a worthless burden, Drake! Look upon the wreckage of your life, and despair!” *Begins to manifest his horns and tail, then quickly hides them, glancing surreptitiously at Dick to see if he noticed*  
**Dick, not noticing younger brother’s actual demonic countenance: ** “Now, hold on—that’s a little harsh—” *Notices Tim is gone, frowns* “Oh well, I’ll talk to Timmy later!”  
**Tim, alone with his tears in a starship to nowhere: ** “Fml”  
*  
Quotes this chapter adapted from Red Robin #1.


	2. Chapter 2

From space, Iona Four looks like a light brown marble with blue and white swirls. Pretty in its way, but nothing like the overwhelming blues and whites of Old Earth or even Gotham’s murky green and gray. This planet is capable of sustaining human life, but not comfortably. That, added to its undesirable location in the boonies of the Outer Arm far from the civilized worlds of the Orion Spur and the Galactic Core, contributes to the unpopularity of the frontier world. No one comes out this far except die-hard individualists, adventurers, and people trying to run away from their problems.

Well, that makes it perfect for Tim. He maneuvers the heavy, clumsy, but capacious freighter he’s been piloting for the last few hundred parsecs of his journey. The Drake landing facilities are still in good enough condition to answer his ping and guide him in for a safe if somewhat rough landing.

_I’m glad no one was around to see that, _he thinks wryly. He’s made worse landfalls… but not many.

The Drake Consortium holding is in significantly better shape than Tim imagined and he lets out a small sigh of relief as he takes in the functional solar generators, storage facility filled with carefully stored vacuum-sealed ration cubes, and best of all, clean and functional machining shop. The attached warehouse is large enough to machine an entire Tesla-class spaceship.

Wait.

He’s not… planning on actually _making _himself a new spaceship, is he? Tim blinks, then shakes his head before running his fingers through his tousled hair. Time to figure out plans for his suddenly wide-open future later. Right now, he just needs to settle in and catch his breath.

The month-long journey from Gotham to Iona Four wasn’t exactly comfortable, after all. He’d transferred as soon as possible from the small skimmer, which might have been tracked despite his best efforts if Oracle decided to take a hand in things. He’d docked at Blüdhaven Station just long enough to trade his skimmer in for a ticket under a false name on a passenger liner to Perseus, jumped ship during a layover at Cygnus Station, and then stowed away on a succession of increasingly decrepit cargo ships during his journey to the Outer Arm.

His trail should be sufficiently obscured, especially considering the fact that the ship he’s in now is one he salvaged from a field of derelict vessels and it doesn’t even have a registered designation with the Central Worlds. Honestly, he’s lucky not to have fallen out of hyper and stranded himself somewhere in an expanse. Flying this hunk of space detritus, basically welded together with hope and propelled by sheer obdurate willpower, may not have been the most rational decision of his life. Still, it worked.

…Although he probably went to more trouble than was necessary, considering how casually the Bats threw him away. No one’s going to come looking for him. Either way, he doesn’t need any unexpected visitors showing up. He certainly wouldn’t put it past Damian to follow him all the way out here at some point simply to gloat over his victory and rub his face in it again.

_So not crash._

Tim settles in, quickly checking the extent and condition of the Drake holdings—manufacturing facility, sealed residential domes, and multiple warehouses still stocked with goods that must have slipped through the cracks when his parents died and everything went into disarray—before finally choosing a residential dome for himself right by the machining area.

The door cycles open at his command and he enters with his pathetically small armload of material belongings. He firmly avoids the thought that _this _is literally all he has to show for his eighteen years of life. Well, also a bunch of scars and some serious emotional trauma, but hey, could be worse.

He could be dead, just like everyone else who ever actually cared about him.

The air is stale, but a quiet mechanical whir followed by a fresh, pleasantly cool breeze informs him the environmental controls are still functional. The room is modest, perhaps four by six meters and equipped with standard bed, sitting and recreation area, food preparation and storage area, and sanitary facilities, all of which retract into the walls while not in use so as to maximize efficiency of space utilization.

Right now, the sanitary facilities are what he wants. “Shower, please.” The moment Tim speaks, voice rusty with disuse, he feels like an idiot. It’s unlikely anything here is voice-activated, not on a hinky outpost his parents probably only set up as a tax shelter—

“Acknowledged,” answers a synthesized feminine voice with the flat affect only the most basic AIs carry as wall panels slide smoothly back. The shower stall, sink, and waste receptacle emerge with only a little creaking and mechanical stuttering to show how _long _this has all sat here, untouched and unmaintained.

_Well, maybe Mom and Dad were actually serious about this facility. I guess I’ll never know now, considering the majority of Drake Consortium’s holdings were divided and sold off before I was even old enough to take control. All that’s left is the scattered, worthless scraps that no one bought up during the auction. I can’t believe something like _this _slipped through the vultures’ grasp. Although I can see why. I assumed this place would be a pile of junk, too, but now I’m starting to see what a gem it is. Wouldn’t take much work to turn this into a proper base, even._

Blinking in surprise at the direction his thoughts have taken, Tim shakes his head and approaches the stall, keying in the temperature he wants and then watching with trepidation. It’s always possible the shower won’t actually _work… _But his concerns prove unfounded when hot water instantly begins to fall from the stall ceiling. Steam rises to fill the air and he sighs as he steps in, what feels like _weeks _of tension falling away at the soothing pounding of the jets on his aching muscles.

It’s been so _long _since he was able to indulge in a shower with real water. Doing without proper bathing facilities is something he’s never quite gotten used to, even in all his years flying with the Bats. Sonic showers may be technically cleansing, but they don’t even come _close_ to approaching the relaxation and sense of true cleanliness that comes with a real shower.

_Thank Tesla we only had to deal with sonics while on Mission, and usually had debrief and recuperation time on planet afterwards. And thank the _stars _for recycled water, otherwise I’d _never _be able to have a shower again, living on a mostly-desert world like Iona Four._

Stepping out, he quickly realizes he does _not _want to put his travel-begrimed clothing back on his warm, clean body. Well, maybe there’s a solution to that? He clears his throat.

“Computer?”

The synthesized voice answers immediately. “Ready.”

Well, everything else has been fully equipped so far. “Please synthesize clothing. Suitable for current climatic conditions and moderate maintenance work. My size.”

“Scanning,” the computer says. The sanitary facilities retreat back into the walls and a different panel slides back to reveal a standard, if horribly antiquated, replicator.

_Oh frag it, that’s _definitely _going to produce only incredibly outdated clothes. Even _Dick _with his terrible fashion sense would laugh at me. This is going to be so embarrassing. Good thing absolutely _no one _is _ever _going to see me wearing this stuff._

The thought of Dick reminds him of the dozens of messages, both holovid and text-based, which await him. He won’t listen to them until he’s set up well enough here to be confident his proxies and relays will prevent the Bats from tracing his access. He’s not really in any hurry to hear about how great they’re all doing without him, anyway, but he has to admit he’s curious. Well, he’ll listen to the messages eventually. For now, he still has other priorities.

A few minutes later, he’s both clean and dressed in ridiculously out-of-style stock clothing from the mercifully still-functional replicators. At least it’s warm. Although… He glares down at his body, currently clad in an eye-searing bright orange jumpsuit with black markings on the arms and waist. He’s really not confident _this _was ever actually _in _style.

_Whatever, I’ll reprogram the replicators later when I have time. The jumpsuit’s actually a pretty decent design, but I think it would look better in red. _He smirks at the thought, then frowns.

Red was always his soulmate’s favorite color.

Well, Tim’s done a lot of things over the years in _his _memory. What’s one more? After all, he’d never even be where he is today if not for him. Even now, years after losing him, his life is still irrevocably shaped by the man who first inspired him to look to the stars.

He smiles sadly, wistfully considering the poignant possibilities of what might-have-been before turning resolutely back to face the present alone.

He’s considering making his way outside to conduct a more thorough inspection of the facilities and start to figure out what maintenance needs to be performed to get everything fully functional when his stomach lets out an untimely growl. Oops. Well, it _has _been a while since his last ration cube. Ugh. While technically nutritious and filling, the cubes are tasteless and tough. Gnawing on them for every meal over the course of his week-long stint aboard the freighter that time forgot has _not_ been the most pleasant culinary experience of his life.

Well, maybe he can have something else now? Literally _anything _else? He’s tentatively hopeful.

“Computer, food, please.” There must already be ration cubes stocked in the replicator, considering it was able to make him clothing without an issue. He tries not to think about the fact whatever he’s about to eat will be made of the same basic building blocks as his clothing.

He’s only mostly successful.

The replicator whirs, but no food immediately appears. “Please specify request.”

Ah, right. This is only a basic AI, not one of the advanced predictive models the Wayne Conglomerate has popularized in recent years. It won’t be able to guess what he wants and probably won’t even offer suggestions unless he asks it to do so directly. Frag, it probably isn’t even programmed to _make _most of the foods he’d want. Something simple, then. “Scrambled eggs, please. Uh, coffee to drink.”

There. Protein, and the caffeine his body has missed so sorely over the past month. The last time he had any was while he was on the passenger liner over three weeks ago.

_Any time is breakfast when you have no one to answer to but yourself. That’s peak adulting, right there._

“Recreation area, please.” The computer responds silently this time, panels opening and mechanisms whirring as a plain dark gray synthfiber couch, matching chairs, and functional plasteel table emerge from the walls. A soft chime informs him his meal is ready and he reaches into the replicator alcove to accept the steaming plate and cup.

_Mmm, coffee…_

Sighing, Tim takes a long drink, grimacing at the slight aftertaste that’s an unfortunate consequence of all replicated food. Still, it’s coffee. He sinks into the corner of the couch, setting his plate on his lap and clutching the coffee close. As he eats, he thinks about the looming, empty machine shop again. Maybe he _should_ build his own ship. His heart begins pumping faster at the thought. A ship that no one can take away from him, one that’s _his._

_Yes._

This is what he’s meant to be doing. This feels _right._

But he doesn’t want to throw away the past entirely. What he’s come from, where he’s been, the sacrifices and friends and all those losses along the way—they’ve all combined to make him who he is, and he _can’t_ run away from that. But maybe, just _maybe_…

He can use this experience as a catalyst to become something _more_.

Tim needs to solve the mystery behind what happened to Kon, Bart, and Bruce. A functional ship is essential to journeying around the galactic arms gathering the readings he needs to confirm his theory on the unknown energy discharge which preceded the destruction of the Bat.

Beyond that, though… He didn’t really have spare time to contemplate past that point during his desperate journey. But now, here in a reasonably safe place where he can actually catch his breath and _think, _he feels as though he’s finally starting to find his center of balance again.

The name for his new ship rises up in his mind unbidden. _Redbird._ A homage to his past and a promise to himself for the future. He doesn’t want to give up on fighting to protect the innocent, but there’s no reason he can only do so as one of the Bats. They may be the best and most widely known vigilantes working behind the Central Worlds scenes to serve and protect the innocent, but the galaxy is a big place.

There’s room for him, too, out here in the frontier worlds of the Outer Arm where no one’s ever stepped forward to take a stand for justice.

For the first time since Tim left Gotham, his lips curve in a wide smile, a real one.

_Redbird._

_Yeah, that sounds about right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, arriving at desolate frontier world: ** “Welp at least there’s a shower” *Begins to reenact Castaway—in SPACE. Finds rock, names it Wilson. Attempts to grow hobo-beard*  
**Tim, getting down to business again after utterly failing to grow hobo-beard: ** “I think I’ve learned something from my journey of personal discovery through social isolation. I need a ship of my own, one NO ONE can ever take away!” *Grins maniacally, starts making plans to build his OWN ship* “Good idea, Wilson!”


	3. Chapter 3

The Redbird is _beautiful. _Long and sleek, with the maneuverability of a fighter jet in-atmosphere and primarily designed for dogfighting in space. The hull material, installed hyperdrive, and shielding is all top-of-the-line. What Tim didn’t have available on-planet, he was able to purchase easily enough through the underground markets.

At least money is something he’ll never have to worry about. The dissolution of his parents’ company while he was underage may have profited others initially, but Bruce and the other Bats worked_ hard_ to fight the corruption and ended up returning a decent chunk of those ill-gotten gains to his coffers. And he’s good at hiding the money trail for his purchases, so he doesn’t need to worry about them finding him that way.

He bites his lip, trying to reconcile the effort all of the Bats exerted to bring down the embezzlers who gutted the Drake Consortium to justice with how easily they threw him away. Something about those two facts doesn’t quite fit… Well, now’s not the time to think about that. This project took him almost three months, but he has no regrets. He has a _lot _to accomplish, and with his ship finally ready, he can get started on the real work.

And _frag,_ but she’s a beauty. Armed with ion guns, particle beams, and guided missiles, she’s far more powerful than her small size would suggest, with a more advanced computer than a Galaxy-class warship. And while he couldn’t quite manage to duplicate the Bat’s unique stealth tech, he did implement one of his own ideas for creating a temporary lithium heat-sink deep in the hold which will render the ship invisible to thermal tracking. Added to the chameleon polymer surface detailing which will allow him to change the ship’s exterior from flashy red and black to any other color combination at the touch of a button—including matching the ambient star patterns for total camouflage—he’s feeling pretty good about his chances.

_There’s no time like the present to test her out._

He smirks, already planning his route to hit as many of his selected testing sites as possible and gather the data he needs. Once he has that, it should be possible to fully analyze the mysterious energy readings he’s _certain _are the key to bringing some of his precious people _home._

* * *

_Well, this is not going as smoothly as I had planned._

The Redbird skims the atmosphere of one of the system’s four gas giants as Tim tries desperately to put some distance between himself and the trio of League of Assassins ships which apparently have nothing better to do than follow him around the ‘verse attacking him. They’ve been dogging his steps for a week now, pretty much ever since he finally began his quest to track down the truth about what happened to Bruce.

_What the frag did I ever do to _you _guys?_

At least he’s managed to gather some of the data he needs. He got all the energy readings from the locations he selected in the Outer Arm, and now he just needs a few hundred more. Preferably from the Perseus Arm, to provide the variation in sampling he needs to properly process the data with sufficiently narrow margins of error.

After all, it probably wouldn’t be great to try to retrieve his friends and then end up with Bart’s head on Bruce’s body and vice versa because he couldn’t be fragged to collect the data properly. He briefly imagines Bruce’s face glaring at him from Bart’s smaller body and shudders in horror at the thought.

_Yeah, nope. That would be so not crash. Not gonna cut any corners here!_

And of course, he already has plenty of data from the various ship destruction sites, Gotham, and Iona Four, as well as several measurements he opportunistically collected during his pell-mell journey to his new home back when he left Gotham for good.

Still, he needs more before he can prove his theory and actually have a chance of bringing them back.

If only the League would just _leave him alone _long enough to get it done.

The ships follow him into the planet’s upper atmosphere and seem to be attempting to perform a flanking maneuver. Well, that’s just not going to work out well for them.

Tim grins wickedly as he keys in the sequence to overload the thrusters. Not ideal, considering every time he does this there’s a nineteen percent chance he’ll frag the engines, but it’s his best bet for shaking these guys. The blast wave is _impressive, _and he watches with wide eyes as it unexpectedly _ignites the gas giant’s atmosphere._

_Huh. Guess that’s not an inert gas-based atmosphere after all. This is what I get for making assumptions._

“Oh, _frag,” _he whispers. “…Whoops?”

The League ships are scrambling, but they can’t avoid the blast wave. Reacting fast, Tim catches the closest ship in his tractor beam and slams into hyper. There’s no _time _to grab the others before the growing explosion immolates them all, so he’s going to have to just save the one he can even though the guilt of failing the others is already tightening his stomach into knots.

If he’s accidentally _killed _someone, even someone as morally bankrupt as an assassin… He swallows, throat suddenly dry, then brings his ship and his tagalong back into real space. Only to stop and stare out his viewscreen in stunned surprise.

The League ship he grabbed is there… with its own tractor beam activated, latched firmly onto the second ship. Which is in turn gripping the third tightly in its own beam.

_Holy Tesla, I didn’t even know it was _possible _to piggyback this many ships into hyper. Uh. _His eyes widen as his mind rapidly provides odds for the success of such an experiment. They’re abysmal. _Welp, probably shouldn’t try _that _one again._

A slightly hysterical laugh emerges from his lips, and he’s pretty sure he only stops because the ship is pinging him. He’s being hailed… by the _assassins?_

Bemused, he accepts the hail.

It’s audio only, and the voice is _not _one which he is prepared to handle right now. “Detective.” Ra’s al Ghul’s silken tones are inimitable, as is the depth of _threat _in his deep, cultured baritone.

“Ra’s,” Tim growls. “What do you want?” The last thing he needs is to tangle with the League of Assassins without any backup, but he apparently doesn’t get a choice. At least the three League ships are clearly damaged by whatever fraction of the blast managed to reach them, so he has a pretty good chance of outrunning them should they attack again.

Ra’s answers smoothly, sounding amused at his ferocity. “I’ve been watching you. Whatever it is that happened to the Bat, it’s obvious you do not _believe _it. And while you have all your parents’ fortune and your own impressive intellect…” The man pauses, allowing his words to sink in for a moment before continuing, “I can offer you _so much more. _A galaxy-wide network of informants, resources beyond anything you can imagine, and the ability to get anything you need, legal or otherwise.”

_In exchange for what’s left of my soul, I’m sure._

Tim ignores the stab of pain at that thought. He’s only had half a soul left for a long time. He should be used to it by now.

Ra’s is still talking. “All I require is that you share with me what you find. The Bat’s final fate.”

_Yeah, right. If I shared my theories and findings, you would absolutely use them to retrieve him—or his body, if he’s actually dead—and then use the League’s dehumanizing tech to make him into just another of your undead cyborg assassins. So, that’ll be a universe-sized _nope _on my end._

_Still, it’s not like I’m swimming in support right now._

“I could use some help collecting data,” he says carefully. If he sets up probes for the League ships to distribute, he can bury the crucial energy readings in so much extraneous data the League will be very unlikely to figure out which information he’s actually targeting. And having a few more ships to help… Well, this task could be completed in _weeks _instead of months.

“Excellent,” Ra’s purrs, making Tim feel extremely slimy. “In that case, I shall leave you to it.”

His viewscreen flickers and then splits into three panels, each with an unfamiliar face regarding him skeptically from their vessels’ pilot chairs. He scans them quickly, noting their physical fitness and likely training levels. Oddly, the woman seems almost untrained compared to the two men. Interesting.

Also of note is the fact none of them show outward signs of moding. There are no visible cybernetic implants on their bodies… which doesn’t mean they don’t have any. It just makes it more likely he’s dealing with actual people capable of exercising free will rather than the mindless cyborgs the League so often uses. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain these three are real, and part of an actual team. There’s no way they’d have risked so much to save each other from the blast earlier if they didn’t care about one another or have a will of their own.

Tentatively, he adds that as a mark to the positive column for his unexpected new team-up.

The woman scoffs, sending him a scornful look. She’s young, with a bald head and enough visible metal to set off cyborg detectors even though it all seems to be decorative rather than utilitarian. “I still don’t see why we have to work with _him—” _Her voice drips with disdain.

The dark-haired man who Tim judges to be their leader cuts her off, clearing his throat loudly while raising a brow warningly. “Enough, Pru.”

_Wait, Pru? _Prudence? _Her parents really missed the mark if that’s right._

“But Z, just _look _at him.” She gestures disparagingly toward Tim as though to indicate his _everything. _“Who in their right mind would wear that hideous shade of orange?”

_Frag, Pru, go ahead and tell it like it is. Don’t hold back now, I can take it._

Z clears his throat and continues as though she hadn’t spoken. “The League of Assassins is at your disposal, Redbird. If anyone gets in your way, the League will take care of the problem.” He smiles and it transforms his stern face into something almost friendly, the low lights of his ship gilding his dark hair and skin.

It might go over better if Tim wasn’t pretty sure this guy just offered to kill anyone who gives him a hard time. “Yeah, uh, _thanks _for that. I guess. But I’d prefer if you avoided killing for the duration of our team-up, otherwise we’re going to have a very short partnership.”

The other member of the League team seems content to merely listen, but his blue eyes take in everything from beneath his fringe of dark hair.

“So… Which of you flies the bomber?” If he’s going to be working with these guys, Tim needs to make sure they’re all good to fly. The bomber ship looked like it took the worst of the hit during that last attack.

“That’s Owens,” Z says, and gestures toward Mr. Strong and Silent, who nods briefly.

“Uh, I have some thermal coils in my hold. If you guys need that for your repairs.” Tim doesn’t exactly feel _great _about offering to perform maintenance on ships belonging to the _League of fragging Assassins, _but... Needs must.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. “We have sufficient stores to perform our own repairs. Give us three hours.” Z signs off then, presumably to superintend the work. Owens follows suit a moment later and Tim notes that both left the lines open, ready to answer if needed.

_Well, maybe they’re actually giving this team-up thing a chance. Or they just want more opportunities to figure out exactly what it is I’m after and use that to Ra’s al Ghul’s advantage. Yeah, it’s probably that. Oh well._

As long as they follow through with helping him as promised, he’s fine with it. He can deal with their inevitable betrayal when he gets there.

He frowns. If Owens is the bomber, then… He focuses on the woman, who’s still regarding him with bored amusement. “So you are…?”

“The interceptor,” Pru answers with a proud grin. That’s the ship he actually grabbed in his tractor beam, so it makes sense she has the fewest repairs to perform. She was pulled out of the blast first, after all.

By process of elimination, that makes Z the assault fighter, which definitely fits considering he’d already pegged that ship as having the most experienced pilot. It sure as frag presented the greatest challenge during their previous dogfights. Nodding, he prepares to sign off himself, planning to revamp his schedule to account for three new minions—wait, _ships, _show some respect to the minions_—_to perform his temporary bidding.

Pru apparently has other plans. “Oy! Don’t walk away from me! You broke my fragging _nose!” _She scowls at him.

_Ah, I guess I _did _smash her nose in pretty good that time I tricked her into flying right into an asteroid. And that other time I managed to get a heat-seeking missile on her—it went right up her nose, didn’t it? Heh. And that _other _time I managed to get her to fly right into the bomber. It was hilarious the way her little ship just bounced off that juggernaut. Anyway, I don’t know where she gets off sounding so indignant about it._

He snorts. “You were trying to _kill _me with ion cannons at the time!” Seriously, a little nose-smashing was a perfectly reasonable response under the circumstances.

The apparently very volatile woman makes a rude gesture and sticks her tongue out at him in lieu of signing off. Just before the screen goes blank, she winks.

Tim blinks at his viewscreen, which is now displaying a calm vista of stars against the abyss. The three League ships are circling up in preparation for repairs. He feels a bit blindsided by these developments, but…

He’s going to be able to do this so much faster now. And if he has to compromise his morals just a bit along the way, well…

It isn’t like he has all that much going for him at this point, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, doing a happy dance in front of his beautiful new ship: ** “Finally, a ship NO ONE can ever take away from me—” *Screams as photon cannons and missiles start firing at his ship* “NOOOO!”  
**Pru, laughing: ** “Yeah, take THAT ya little blighter—wait—FRAG!” *Accidentally flies into asteroid because she was too busy mocking Tim to pay attention to where she was going* “Frag me”  
**Z, considering: ** “Maybe when you’re older” *Listens to orders from Ra’s* “Apparently now we are to stand down and… assist the target in his task? That’s weird. Whatever, this is STILL better than the mission to Kanar Three with all those tentacles”  
**Pru, shuddering: ** “Frag, don’t fraggin’ remind us!”  
**Owens: ** “…”  
**Tim, deeply conflicted but kinda short on options: ** “Okaaaay… I, uh, promise there will be no tentacles involved” *Crosses fingers behind his back, knowing the first rule of SPACE is that it’s unpredictable* “Welcome to the team, guys!”  
*  
Quotes in this chapter adapted from Red Robin #2 and #3


	4. Chapter 4

Working with the League crew makes for a strange, uneasy team-up, but over the next couple of weeks he’s surprised to find it actually _works._ They caravan through hyper to each new sector on his list, then split up to cover a huge amount of territory in the time it would take him to perform a fraction of the work by himself. He’s surprised to find the three assassins play _ridiculous _games over the comms to pass the time while in hyper. Not to mention the pranks they pull on each other in real space.

He’s almost having _fun._

Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t had a team at his back in a while, but…

He thinks a lot of it’s just Z, Owens, and Pru, and the relationship they have as a team.

The first time he hears Owens laugh is when Pru starts cursing over the comms on their third day together. At first, the others are clearly concerned. After all, they’re spread out across an entire parsec and if she needs immediate assistance no one’s in a position to provide it.

“Pru, report.” Z’s deep, powerful voice immediately takes control of the situation and it’s only Tim’s experience working with people who habitually hide their emotions that allows him to pick up the buried thread of concern.

Her sputtered cursing continues for a full minute, followed by yelling. “I fragged my fragging nose _again! _The stupid planet he wants readings from had a whole fraggin’ _moon _hidden in the upper atmosphere, and I crashed into it!”

Tim blinks. _What? How do you just… crash into an entire _moon? _I… don’t understand._

Z sighs, sounding both exasperated and resigned. “Salvagable?”

Pru snorts. “Yeah, I’m good to go, not likely to win any beauty contests though. Just—_frag! Come _on, _really?!” _A loud crunching sound carries through the comms and Tim finds himself involuntarily wincing.

“Uh. Are you okay?” he asks carefully after a moment of silence.

“My fragging _nose!” _Pru wails despairingly.

“Let me guess,” Z responds with what sounds suspiciously like a suppressed sigh. “Another moon?”

Pru grudgingly mutters, “Fraggin’ _yes. _Fragging moons, coming at me out of _nowhere…”_

Her last few words are almost drowned out by the sound of someone laughing, the happy, rich chuckles carrying melodiously over the comms.

_Who…?_

Pulling up the feeds from the other ships’ cabins, he’s stunned to see _Owens, _who’s barely spoken two words this entire time—strong, silent, stoic _Owens—_laughing so hard the man actually has to stop and wipe his eyes. When he finally looks up, he catches sight of Tim on his viewscreen and grins. “Where to next, Boss?”

And despite his initial concerns, the League doesn’t attempt to take over his mission or interfere in his planning and logistics. Even Z’s weekly holovid check-ins with the team’s League handler are far less sinister than Tim would have expected from people working for a galaxy-wide criminal organization. Granted, the Red Hood looks pretty intimidating, with his huge muscles and the red helmet he never seems to remove…

But the fact that the man cracks jokes about Pru’s nose, secretly sends the team care packages via deep space pods, and sounds genuinely concerned whenever trouble crops up tends to humanize him a bit.

And after the first time Tim ends up fielding the comms when the guy calls, well… It’s pretty hard to maintain an appropriate mental distance from someone who clearly cares about his team so much.

“Why the _frag _are you the one answering?” Red Hood stares at him through the screen, beefy arms folded across his chest. He somehow conveys the impression of glaring despite the expressionless helmet. “What did you do to my team?” His fists clench.

“Uh.” Tim blinks, trying not to think about the numerous gruesome tales Pru and the others have gleefully shared that illustrate the Red Hood’s many and storied exploits. He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus as the man on the screen visibly loses patience, inhaling as though about to begin an angry diatribe. “They’re fine! Just busy performing routine maintenance. Z and Owens are suited up and Pru’s keeping an eye on them. I took the call because I didn’t want them to be distracted and risk getting hurt.”

At Hood’s continued glower, Tim hurries to call up the feeds and show him the crew are, indeed, busy at the tasks he mentioned. The other man lets out a long sigh of relief at the sight, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “Okay, okay.” He shakes his head. “Have ‘em call me back when they’re done, yeah? I gotta check in, orders.” The man signs off quickly, leaving Tim with a faint smile on his face.

_Orders, sure. You just can’t admit you’re worried about them. All those stories they told me about this guy don’t quite match up to the real thing. Still, that just means he probably has a dark side. Hope I don’t ever see it. _

So it goes. As the days stretch into weeks and the readings from the Perseus Arm add to the picture he’s building of the mysterious energy surges that hold the key to so much, he finds himself… enjoying his team. He knows he can’t trust them fully, they’re _League _after all, but…

Z saved him from an ambush by pirates in a nebula he’d entered to gather data. The assassin recognized their sensor readings and moved to defend him, taking hits to protect the Redbird. The only reason Pru and Owens weren’t right there was they were tracking the pirates’ trace back to their base and disabling their other ships. None of them even killed anyone, which made him absurdly proud of them all.

He knows Pru grew up on a lawless frontier planet and joined the League late in life when she fought her way off a slaver ship without any training through the combined powers of desperation and sheer obdurate spite. The League vessel that picked up her escape pod from the expanse she’d stranded herself in was piloted by Z, who was impressed by her spirit. And also the fact that after he brought her onboard and she leapt out of her pod to attack him, she actually managed to land a hit him before he broke her nose in self-defense.

Tim smirks. He knows Owens likes cheesy holovids and sings pop hits when he thinks the comms are off. Hilariously, Owens’ comms are _never _off; the other assassins on his team apparently rigged his to constantly broadcast on the closed team channel so they can _always _enjoy his impromptu concerts.

And…

He knows Z wonders what it would be like to _save _a life, instead of always taking them.

_I can’t help but wonder… If I keep working with these guys, maybe I’ll be able to help them see there are other possibilities out there. They could do a lot of good if they just walked away from the League. Ha, yeah right. No one ever walks away from the _League. _And they seem close to the Red Hood, so I’m not sure they’d be willing to leave their handler behind. Well, at least I can keep subtly encouraging the no-killing thing._

Everything’s going really well. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much when it all inevitably goes to fragging hell.

They’ve just finished collecting the very last readings to complete Tim’s model and analysis of the unknown energy. He sits back in his seat, feeling stunned at having actually managed to achieve what he set out to do. “Holy fragging Tesla,” he whispers. “We’re _done.”_

Pru grins at him from his viewscreen which is currently split into three to show everyone. “Great! Can we go now? I’m fragging tired of fragging sonic showers and ship rations.” She raises her eyebrows with a playful smirk. “We get some kind of bonus for this, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe if Ra’s is feeling particularly generous when you guys get back.”

Z regards Tim with a warm look in his brown eyes. “And how do you feel, Tim?”

He just smiles, allowing his expression to speak for him.

This is a moment of accomplishment for all of them. Maybe that’s why no one notices until it’s too late.

“Hmm?” Z’s gaze drifts to the side as though he’s reading something on his computer interface. He doesn’t have time to say anything else, but they all have an agonizingly perfect view of his eyes widening in shock and horror the moment before a powerful white laser erupts through his chest, apparently having penetrated right through his ship’s hull. “Hur—”

The next moment, a huge ship marked with a gigantic spider decloaks right in the fragging middle of their convoy. _Council of Spiders, oh frag. They’re the League’s biggest rivals—there’s no _way _they’ll back down without a fight._

It looks like the dreadnought is targeting the other League ships next.

Tim’s already maxing out the drives trying to get to the others before Z’s last word even cuts off. “Owens! Pru! _Move!” _Z’s assault ship is coming apart in the background, but he _can’t _afford to think about that right now. He can still save Owens and Pru if he just _focuses._

They’re both screaming denial and he isn’t sure they can even _hear _him right now past the pain of losing their teammate. _Frag, their shields aren’t even up yet. They’re totally open!_

The laser cannons fire again, devastatingly powerful at such close range. He sees the hellish scene in stereo, both from afar on the screen as Owens’ ship takes the hit head-on and Pru’s receives a glancing blow, and from close-up, through their still-open team link. So he _sees _the way the lasers travels right into both cabins, one energy beam grazing Pru’s throat…

And the other tearing right through the center of Owens’ _chest._

_Oh no, oh void, _no!

The Council ship is targeting Pru again, so he pivots and accelerates to block the shot with the Redbird. His shields can handle it.

Pru rallies then, and between her damaged interceptor and the Redbird they manage to hold off the Council ship long enough for League reinforcements to arrive and destroy it. Long enough for the two of them to survive. But…

As he watches the wreckage of the Council ship drift, he can’t bring himself to care as much as he probably should about the loss of life involved in its destruction.

Not when Z and Owens are _dead, _and for nothing more than a petty power grab by a rival assassin group.

Tim’s screen comes alive once more, waking him from his daze. It’s Pru. She looks… devastated. His heart wrenches at the pain in her eyes. “Get out of here.”

“What? Shouldn’t I…?” He’s confused, but he doesn’t feel like he should just leave her here in the wreckage of her dead teammates. She just lost her _world. _He’s been there, more than once. Maybe he can help her deal.

“They’re going to _mode _them!” she hisses, looking simultaneously grief-stricken and furious. She barks a bitter laugh, sounding anything but happy. “We’ll be a _team _again, except I’ll be the only one who’s a _person. _They’ll just be fraggin’ _robots _wearing my friends like fraggin’ meatsuits.” Her despair and fury in that moment is palpable.

_What?_

But as he thinks about who they’re dealing with here, it makes an awful kind of sense. The League does hate wasting resources, after all. As he considers everything he knows about the League’s cybernetic methodology from the Bats’ files and studies of their tech, he recalls on an old theory Bruce had that the man never had a chance to test. It just might prove to be exactly what they need right now.

“Pru,” he says slowly, an insane plan forming in his mind. “How much do you trust me?”

Wide, wet eyes blink at him, and then narrow shrewdly. “About as far as we can throw each other. So, pretty fraggin’ far, really.”

He raises his brows. “Can you get onto the ship where they’re going to be performing the moding?”

She frowns. “Yeah, probably.”

Tim grins. “I want you to steal something for me. Don’t worry, I’ll create a distraction while you do it.”

Pru stares at him for a long moment and he wonders if she’s going to roll on him. Instead, she smiles, shark-like. “I don’t even know what the frag you’re planning, but frag this. I’m in.”

* * *

Fleeing in hyper with Pru’s damaged ship precariously held in the Redbird’s tractor beam, Tim takes a moment to let out a very relieved breath that his half-baked plan _actually worked._

Well, at least the first part. His computer virus sent false signals through the League ships to make it appear that they were surrounded by an entire squadron of Council of Spiders ships, which had definitely been enough of a distraction for Pru to grab both men the moment they were revived by the cybernetics… along with the device that was used to raise them.

He drops into real space just long enough to jump into hyper again on a random vector. And again. And _again, _until he’s _positive _they can’t be followed.

Then twice more, just to be sure.

When they finally stop, he docks Pru’s ship and cautiously enters. She’s seated with her legs curled under her body on a med cot, just staring at the forms lying on the two other cots. Her face is dry, but he still has the uncanny feeling that she’s been crying.

Her nose is bruised and swollen from fighting her way off the League ship, because _of course _it is.

“Okay, so… I’m not sure this is going to work.” Tim bites his lip as he carefully lifts the device which the League used to raise the dead and turn them to their bidding. “But the Bat—the man who trained me. He trained with the League himself, a long time ago. And he believed that their tools could be reversed. He had no proof, but some of the things he saw seemed to indicate free will could be taken away as a punishment, or _returned _as a reward. So, there’s _probably _a way to crash the mode, so to speak.”

She stares at him, unimpressed. “So you’re basing all of this—” she gestures, flailing her arm toward the room at large and the not-quite dead men therein, “—on a _maybe?”_

_Well, it sounds worse when you put it like that it._

“…Yes?” He blinks, then gives her a small smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I have no idea why I went along with this! We’re all fragged anyway, even if it works! Ra’s is going to set the Red Hood on us, and we’ll be _lucky _if he just kills us.”

Tim frowns, puzzled. “But I figured he’d be on your side, maybe even join you? He cares about you guys a lot, I could tell.”

Pru’s face twists. “That won’t matter.” Seeing he doesn’t understand, she sighs, dragging a hand over her face. “Hood’s fragging moded. When his switch is flipped, he’s the most merciless damn killer in the League.”

_Well, frag. That’s not good._

She scoffs at his silence, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, then nods, seemingly arriving at a decision. “Fine. Just do it, they’re giving me the creeps.”

They _do _look eerie lying there with blank, staring eyes, new cybernetic implants blinking at regular intervals. Empty, like all League of Assassins-raised cyborgs. But if they can be _brought back…_

It’ll mean a whole new level of defense against their tech. Not to mention the possibility of bringing the League to their _knees _if their cyborgs can be freed en masse. But that’s for future-Tim to deal with. Right now, he has to find a way to make this _work _because he can’t handle seeing Pru with such a hopeless look of despair in her eyes. She’s supposed to be angry and full of fire, not… _sad._

Swallowing, Tim pulls up the computer diagnostic of the device, cross-referenced with the intel his protocols managed to rip from the League before they had to disengage and flee. And…

_There._

_This is it! The root access code. I think I can adapt it to jailbreak them, basically. This _can _be reversed, I just have to—_

Tim inputs the code, breath hitching as he changes the settings and programming. He can’t think about the fact that he’s basically _programming their minds, _or he won’t be able to get through this. Anyway, he’s not doing anything but freeing their memories, and releasing them from the League’s rule. On his way out, he disables root access so no one will ever be able to access and use their implants against them again.

_If this works…_

He waits with bated breath, watching as the men on the cots begin to stir, then open their eyes.

“Pru, what happened to your nose?” Z sounds a bit groggy, but lucid and _himself._

She scowls, but doesn’t quite manage to hide her relief or the tears that well up in her eyes at the sight of them both, alive and themselves again. Owens smiles.

If Tim’s relieved laughter in that moment sounds a little too much like a sob, well.

No one mentions it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, actually making friends and enjoying life: ** “Yay, I have a team again! Good thing they’re all vicious assassins, the only thing that could bring THEM down is—”  
**Z and Owens, shrieking as they die horribly right in front of him: ** “Aaargh!!!” *Continue twitching feebly as gigantic rival assassin ship finishes them off, then attacks Tim and Pru*  
**Tim, sighing sadly: ** “—Another assassin. Dammit!” *Fights off rival assassins, saves Pru* “This is what I get for trying to socialize”  
**Pru, fleeing League of Assassins clutching corpses: ** “C’mon Tim we gotta fraggin’ GO!”  
**Tim, horrified: ** “Sweet merciful TESLA Pru put those down, that’s gross!” *Helps her escape League anyway*  
**Pru, rolling her eyes: ** “No you idiot they’re not dead anymore, they’re CYBORGS. Of course, they’re probably gonna murder us to death when they wake up with League programming—”  
**Tim, perking up: ** “I’m GREAT at programming!” *Reprograms Z and Owens* “Now they’re themselves again, yay! Also, I added some gaming apps for funsies” *Grins, then attempts to flee as reunited team initiates group hug. Eventually gives in, enjoys hug*  
*  
Quotes this chapter adapted from Red Robin #3 and #4


	5. Chapter 5

Tim stares at the viewscreen, his hand hovering over the controls, knowing he needs to do this but unable to quite force himself to press play just yet. He releases a shuddering sigh, still trying to calm down after the wild ride of the past few days.

He left Z, Owens, and Pru at Perseus Station with a promise of an open comm channel whenever they need him, a repaired and tracker-free ship, and what in retrospect was probably more credits than they’ve ever seen in their lives.

“Hey, you _did _say you deserved a bonus for helping me out,” he’d said with a wink as they stared at him in stunned shock at their new bank balance. “Seriously, take it. It’s not as though your regular paycheck’s going to be coming anymore.” Not when they’ve effectively forsaken the League of Assassins with their actions.

Z had nodded gravely while Owens waved and Pru started loudly talking about everything she intended to buy with her share. As they’d walked away, Tim overheard Z talking her out of blowing it all on a photon sword.

The former assassins are on their own for the time being and on the run from the League, which isn’t a great position for anyone to be in, especially with their former handler the Red Hood rumored to be in pursuit. On the bright side, they’re interested in working with _him _from now on, which is pretty crash. Maybe he’ll meet up with them again in a month or two once the heat dies down a bit on their end and he’s taken care of the last of his own obligations.

_I’m glad they’re all okay. But… Now that I have the information which _proves _my theory about Bruce and the others, well, it’s time for me to finally face some of the things I’ve been running away from all this time._

He has the last evidence he needs to show what happened to Bruce, whom he now knows with near certainty is trapped in a quantum state, scattered across several galactic sectors. The others can handle the investigation from here on out now that he has solid _proof _instead of just insane-sounding theories.

With this evidence, the Bats can utilize the top-notch scientists and cutting edge facilities of the Wayne Conglomerate to reconstruct the weapon that caused the incidents and then use it to reverse the effects, bringing home not only Bruce, but Kon and Bart as well.

Everything he’s set his heart on for the past months is within his grasp, but he’s hesitating.

This data needs to be sent out… so it’s time to finally face whatever accusations or statements of good luck and good riddance have been waiting for him in all the missed holovid calls and messages he’s been ignoring over the past five months.

_I just… don’t want to be reminded of how little I mattered to them. _He inhales a long, deep breath and then slowly releases it. _Oh well. We don’t always get what we want._

Unconsciously bracing himself, he lines up the first message, received only minutes after he left Gotham, and presses play.

Dick’s concerned face fills the screen. “Hey, little bro. First of all, I am _so _sorry about what just happened. Apparently you’re on your way back home—that’s a good call, Alfred’s cooking can always make everything better.” He grins brightly before his face falls and he shoves it into his hands with a loud groan. “I can’t _believe _how badly that went wrong, though! I mean, I know we’ll probably _laugh _about it years from now, but holy _Sagan _that was a mess.”

_What? I don’t… What does he mean?_

Tim frowns in confusion, trying to figure out what the frag to make of this strange message. He’d expected something more along the lines of ‘come pick up your stuff, we’re clearing out your former room at the Manor.’

On the screen, Dick’s shoulders heave and he slowly raises his head, shaking it from side to side. “Okay, first of all, you were _not _locked out of the Robin. All that happened was I gave Damian access so he could check it out! He’s a little brat—” A fond but exasperated smile takes over his face and he rolls his eyes, “—so he decided to lock you out manually. Timmy, the kid was literally holding the door shut when you tried to get in. I would _not _take your ship away like that.” Visibly distressed, he runs a hand through his already-tousled black locks. “I was going to _talk _to you about it alone first, get a feel for how ready you were to move on.” He smirks. “Show you your new ship the _Flamebird, _and see if you had any improvements you wanted to add before taking her for a test run.”

_What? Flamebird, I don’t—what?_

There’s a growing sense that Tim has somehow _wildly _misinterpreted this entire situation. Guiltily considering the past five-plus months of absolute radio silence on his side, he wonders if maybe he’s going to end up having to send his family a few photon swords to make up for this.

Photon swords are crash, right? Everyone likes photon swords.

On the screen, Dick from just over five months ago shrugs, sighing. “I was really worried about that stupid pirate ring, and maybe a little hangry because I hadn’t eaten in like three cycles with the stress of trying to run the Bats on my own. Or slept. Anyway, that’s on me, and it’s just explanations, not excuses. I should never have let this happen, and I’m so _sorry, _Tim.”

He smiles then, open and genuine and so full of _love _Tim’s breath catches in his throat. “I’ve sent the pirates’ location off to Oracle—great job on that, by the way, baby brother!—and I’m about to head planetside. Gonna pick up some of that spicy Terelian sushi you love so much. See you in a few, Timmy!” With another brilliant smile, his big brother signs off.

_Welp. That’s… unexpected. Seriously, though? All of this happened because Dick was _hangry? _Oh, sweet merciful Tesla, why..._

Hundreds of subsequent messages from Dick, Alfred, Babs, Cass, Steph, and even _Damian, _all blink at him accusingly from his dash. There are some from Cassie as well, and his heart hurts as he remembers once again she lost her _soulmate _in Kon. He shouldn’t have left her without support, even if she _did _think he was going crazy with grief instead of considering his wild theories might actually be valid.

_Yeah, I’m gonna have some apologies to make. Photon swords for everyone! Then again…_

Tim’s eyes cut to the data that’s going to be the key to bringing Bruce, Bart, and Kon home, and he smiles.

_Good thing I have a shortcut to building up some goodwill._

* * *

The reaction is predictably tumultuous when Tim finally opens a private channel to the Cave. Damian answers, because _of course he does. _But it’s not nearly as painful as he would have expected based on what he remembers about the brat.

For one thing, the boy’s face blanches as he registers who it is, his olive gold skin draining of color. _“Drake!” _he gasps in shock, leaning forward to reflexively clutch at the screen. _“Timothy!_ Remain on the channel! We shall trace it and find you. Have you managed to escape your captors?” His green eyes scan over Tim’s body rapidly, apparently searching for injuries. “Where are you? List your most critical injuries in order of urgency!”

_Oh my Tesla, what ‘verse is this and how did I get here?_

“Uh. What?” Tim blinks at the boy, who doesn’t notice his confusion because he’s turned to shout at someone over his shoulder.

“Richard! It’s _Timothy!” _Spinning to face the viewscreen again, the boy reaches out as though attempting to touch him. “We heard things, _terrible _things…”

He sounds almost concerned. It’s weird. “I thought you hated me?” Tim feels oddly wrongfooted by this conversation. Maybe he should have listened to the rest of the messages before calling, to try to get the lay of the land. But he hadn’t wanted to leave the family worrying any longer unnecessarily.

Damian’s brows draw together. “I considered you my _rival, _Timothy. Personal like or dislike never entered the equation.” He frowns, looking discomfited. “As you know, my upbringing was… unusual.”

_Yeah, being raised by the League of fragging Assassins will do that to you._

The boy continues, “I did not realize that advancement amongst my father’s ranks was not conducted along the same lines as for Grandfather’s followers. I truly believed the only way to earn acceptance and approval here was by displacing you. Injuring you if necessary, driving you away if possible.”

Tim tilts his head. “Yeah, I remember. And by the way, that really sucked. But… Are you saying you don’t think that way anymore?”

Damian nods stiffly. “Richard and Pennyworth have been most helpful in explaining the practices considered honorable amongst the Bats. I swear, I shall never repeat my mistake.” He looks down guiltily. “Particularly as the consequences of my impetuous actions were so dire as to result in your fleeing in a practically undefended vessel, and being kidnapped while traveling from here to Gotham.”

_Wait, what?! Is _that _what they think went down?_

“Oh holy _Tesla, _guys, that is _not _what happened!” Tim’s guilt over this whole misunderstanding increases.

“We thought Ra’s had you,” Dick breathes, having just crashed into Damian’s back to lean over his shoulder. He gazes at Tim’s face like he never thought he’d see it again. “The rumors were confusing, but for a while there it really seemed like he might have _moded _you. I mean, from the footage we’ve got, Redbird looks like one of _ours, _but you were flying her with the _League—”_

_Oh, wow. This doesn’t look good, does it?_

“I can explain. I wasn’t _really _working with Ra’s, just using his help to try to find—” Tim begins, but he’s cut off immediately.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick says urgently, and Damian nods. “Whatever you’ve been through, whatever happened to you, you’re still one of us and we’re here for you. Just… Are you safe, wherever you are right now?”

“Yes.” Tim bites his lip, then smiles tentatively. “And I have a _lot _to tell you about.” He taps the controls to send his data packet over, making sure to forward copies both to the Cave and to Oracle.

It isn’t the easiest or simplest explanation, but with the data backing him up, they _listen. _Before long, both Dick and Damian are poring over the data, surrounded by a holographic interface which finally convinces them their father is alive. Babs logs on soon after he begins his explanation and immediately begins filtering and refining the data.

“I can use this,” she murmurs, already sounding distracted by the unique problem he’s sent her way. “I’m passing it along to my best team. I think… We can probably reverse-engineer the weapon within a few weeks, considering it appears to have been based on Alterian tech. That gives us a starting point…”

She continues into technobabble which quickly leaves both Damian and Dick behind. Tim just lets it roll over him. It feels like vindication.

_I was right. I knew it, and now we’re getting them _back. _All it took was leaving the nest and learning to fly on my _own._ And if I had to be pushed out before I flew, well, nature’s cruel sometimes._

As though reading his mind, Dick clears his throat and waits for Babs to taper off before interjecting. “So, Timmy… When can we expect you to come _home?” _His voice sounds plaintive and his expression is so _hopeful. _It’s painful, but it also feels a little bit like being wrapped in a big, warm, fluffy blanket and held tightly.

_They missed me. They love me. I… have a family. They want me to come _back.

Tim thinks about it. He’s spent the past months in the expanse of the Outer Arm, and he’s observed a great deal that he’s not sure he can just turn his back on now. Between all the trips spent tracking down evidence of Bruce and the others being alive, he’s noticed a _lot _of opportunity out there for hunting down pirates who prey on civilian and cargo transports, as well as criminals fleeing justice.

Iona Four is perfectly situated as a base to serve those sectors, and the Redbird is ready to _fly_. Frag, he even has the beginnings of a team started.

In that moment, he realizes with a thrill of epiphany that he doesn’t _want _to go home. Doesn’t really think of _Gotham_ as home anymore. Well, he wouldn’t mind going back for regular visits and team-ups, and he’d _definitely _appreciate having the Bats as backup to add to his irregular team of partially-rehabilitated former assassins when needed.

But… He’s grown, and he doesn’t think he could fit back into that old Tim-shaped life if he tried. He smiles.

“I’ll come back for a visit soon,” he says finally, and he’s a little surprised by how much he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, finally listening to the numerous messages the Batfam left since his dramatic departure: ** “Damn this is gonna suck” *Cringes expectantly, waits to be shredded by rejection once more*  
**Holovid Dick, grinning exuberantly: ** *Apologizes profusely for actions, makes it clear Tim is beloved and always welcome in family. Offers conciliatory sushi and bonus starship* “Seeya tonight, Timmy!” *Smiles cluelessly, unaware he’s going to spend the next five months in a hell of worry, anxiety and guilt over missing little brother’s unknown but probably gruesome fate*  
**Tim, staring at screen in utter shock: ** “…Whoopsie” *Calls Batfam immediately*  
**Damian, answering: ** “Egads, tis DRAKE! Brother, tell me who kidnapped you that I may not quite kill them in vengeance, in keeping with Father’s teachings!” *Swings photon sword demonstratively*  
**Tim, stunned and partially convinced he’s slipped into an alternate dimension: ** “…”  
**Dick, weeping: ** “TIMMY! It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or WHAT Ra’s put inside you—wait ew that came out wrong, I meant cyborg enhancements, not THAT—anyway, just come HOME”  
**Tim, slowly smiling: ** “Yeah, I think I will swing by for a visit sometime. Oh btw B’s alive and I have PROOF”  
**Everyone else, shocked and overjoyed: ** “Yay!”


	6. Chapter 6

The Redbird rolls, barely managing to dodge the pursuing ship’s brutal assault as missiles and lasers skim just past the aft thrusters.

_Frag, that was close. I need to—_

Tim doesn’t have a chance to finish the thought because the missiles slow and then begin to arc back toward his ship, picking up speed as they approach. Programmed targeting, of _course. _The League of Assassins is known and feared throughout the galaxy for warfare and his nameless opponent is proving that reputation well-earned. At least this is a single-man vessel, even if it is the biggest and most heavily armed class of ship designed for a lone pilot. It isn’t one of their even larger warships manned by crews of a dozen or more, or a serious team like Z, Owens, and Pru. He’d _really _be fragged if he were facing _that _without backup.

His hands fly across the holographic interface, not hesitating for a moment before directing the Redbird through a brief jump into hyper. The missiles are just close enough to the ship they get dragged into hyper as well, and are left harmlessly behind when he drops back out into real space.

A dangerous maneuver, what with the possibility he could have destabilized spacetime around himself and become permanently trapped in a tiny pocket universe until the inevitable heat death of the universe, but hey. Needs must.

The Redbird is going at full speed short of entering hyper again and the League ship is closing anyway, enormous and threatening. If he enters hyper, the other will likely just follow him, ready to attack again once they both drop out. There’s a nebula he needs to avoid unless he wants to really test his ship’s shields at high velocity through a field of debris obscured by clouds of dust and gas. On the other hand, it _would _offer potential cover. No, better to stay away from it for now and save it as a last resort. He accelerates away from the nebula, contingencies spinning through his mind as he searches for the best way to make it out of this engagement intact.

_I’m never doing Pru any favors again. This is _so _not_ _crash._

But he knows he’d do the same in a heartbeat if she contacted him again. Z, Owens and Pru aren’t ready for dogfights. They’re still healing from the encounter with the Council of Spiders. As soon as Tim heard a League ship seemed to be closing in on them, well… He had to wonder if the Red Hood had finally caught up to them.

Of _course _he came to help, providing a distraction while the others escaped.

He needs to deal with this _now, _and keep this ship from following his friends_. _But the starship is easily twice the size of the Redbird, and hideously overpowered. If even _one _of those missiles manages to hit, his shields are going to crumple like paper. A second hit will be the end of him.

_Well, that just means I can’t allow myself to be hit. I’m experienced, I’ve got the training, I know plenty of ways to deal with this type of situation. I just have to—_

Tim stares at the viewscreen in disbelief as the other ship deploys a goddamn _tractor beam, _apparently planning to just grab the Redbird and physically force it to come to a halt. Yeah, not gonna happen. He responds with one of the Bats’ classic maneuvers, going into a barrel roll while deploying thrusters to rapidly turn the ship a hundred and eighty degrees while conserving momentum. Now, instead of trying to catch him in a tractor beam, the League ship should be scrambling to avoid a collision… Except the ship apparently _rolled and spun with him _and is still following, eating up the distance between them. He’s almost within reach of that beam now.

_How the fragging void did they _do _that? No one should be able to perform that move unless personally trained by B, let alone on the fly and in the middle of a battle!_

Even as the thought passes through his mind, he’s already bringing his ship into another tactical defensive move. That damn nebula is coming up again _fast, _so he needs to compromise the other ship sufficiently to force it to leave off pursuit _now._

The League ship matches him for every maneuver, effortlessly following him even when he skips into hyper again, this time engaging the chameleon effect and lithium heat sinks to try to lose his pursuer. When the Redbird re-emerges into real space a few light-seconds away from his previous position, invisible to both thermal and standard sensors, the League ship somehow _reorients itself _and resumes pursuit on the new vector.

This is _so _not good.

The League apparently has some _very _sensitive intel on the Bats if this pilot knows the trick to detecting their ships even while cloaked. Tim grimaces. This is a dogfight he’s not actually sure he can _escape, _let alone win. He quickly keys in the next sequence, hoping he doesn’t frag the engines with this move. Overloading the thrusters to create a blast wave and cripple his attacker is _not _a standard Bat move, although it is a tactic they’re all trained in as a method of last resort. He’s certainly used it to impressive effect before.

Grimly satisfied, he watches the blast wave erupting out behind his ship toward his pursuer—only to gasp in shock as the ship behind him _blinks out, _apparently entering hyper with split second timing to avoid the blast. The ship sticks close through every piloting trick he tries, slowly but steadily gaining on him.

Tim guides the Redbird into a defensive randomized flight path while firing off what’s left of his weapons. Not that it does much good, considering the other ship’s initial clobbering took out the long-distance targeting array and there’s no time for him to manually target while maneuvering the Redbird through the leading edge of the nebula debris field.

And how the pilot managed to take out his targeting with one lucky shot is beyond him, actually. Unless this is someone who intimately _knows _the base design of the Bats’ ships…

His mind stutters to a halt before he forces himself to concentrate. There’s no one out there like that. None of the Bats’ ships have ever been lost intact, and the ones that have been scrapped in battle were destroyed so thoroughly nobody could’ve salvaged anything more than the most general design features.

But… If there’s even a _chance _this person has such intimate knowledge of the Bats’ ships and tactics, as seems possible based on their performance in the fight so far…

Tim swallows, throat suddenly dry. In that case, he can’t use any of the tactics he’s been trained in and used with the Bats, because he has to assume the pilot is familiar with them and knows countermoves for each.

He has to do something _new._

Leaving the chameleon effect and lithium heat sinks engaged despite the other ship’s apparent ability to locate him anyway, Tim guides the Redbird right into the thickest portion of the field without dumping any speed. Fingers white on the controls, he maneuvers the Redbird with split second timing. His ship darts between asteroids and dodges larger fragments of space debris that appear on the viewscreen with barely enough time to react. He tries not to wince with every hit he can’t avoid.

His pursuer _finally _falls behind, the larger ship at a pronounced disadvantage here in the nebula. But the Redbird has to come out eventually, and the League ship will most certainly be waiting for him. Maybe with some friends, if he takes long enough to show up again and the other ship has time to call in backup.

No, he’s not planning to make a run for it or hide out in here. Judging he’s gone far enough into the nebula, Tim double checks the sensors. The debris surrounding him is made up of mostly metallic or icy material from large asteroid-size down to dust. He smirks.

_Excellent._

Tim drops the chameleon effect but leaves the heat sinks running, knowing the ship can’t handle both of those _and _what he’s about to do. Besides, the stealth has served its purpose. His attacker is no longer in visual range. With the poor visibility in the nebula, it’s unlikely the other pilot will be able to detect him without a heat signature until he’s practically right on top of the enemy ship.

Engaging the Redbird’s tractor beams at full power, he guides his ship into one more barrel roll and spin, wheeling around to speed back the way he just came. Maneuvering out of the nebula is both easier because he’s retracing his steps and fragging _difficult _due to the payload he’s now dragging behind him.

By the time the debris finally begins to clear up as he nears the edge of the field, the Redbird’s thrusters are _struggling _and the tractor beams have picked up—he glances at the readouts and his eyes widen—over a thousand _tons _of material. Finally spotting the League ship, still advancing laboriously into the nebula, he allows himself a fierce grin.

_If this _is_ the Red Hood, he’s fragged._

Then charges it, head-on, at full speed.

The other ship stops advancing and actually begins backing up, the pilot probably panicking as they realize they literally can’t go into hyper without building up more speed again first, and they can’t do _that _without risking hull breach flying into the nebula.

_Yes! I’ve got them._

At the last possible moment, he shifts course to fly over the other ship—releasing his payload of literally _hundreds _of projectiles traveling at barely sub-light velocity to crash into it. He bleeds off speed fast and wheels, positioning himself close enough so that the moment the League vessel’s shields go down, he’s there to take advantage.

With half a dozen meticulously aimed shots of his single remaining functional ion gun, he takes out first the other ship’s targeting and weapons array, then the communications array, and finally the thrusters. As the hulking ship drifts, red lights flickering across the hull indicative of severe damage, Tim releases a shaky breath.

_Frag, that was intense._

Not willing to give the other pilot any time to recover, he quickly engages Redbird’s tractor beams to lock the larger ship into place. Scanning it, he frowns as he realizes life support is failing. Well, that’s not good.

He bites his lip. Boarding the League ship is definitely a huge risk. It’s possible the other pilot will ambush him the moment he boards. But… Bruce’s rules aside, leaving someone to die alone in space is _not _his style.

_No one left behind. Although I doubt they’ll thank me for it much once I deliver them to the proper authorities…_

Tim initiates docking procedures. Sighing, he straightens and then rises from the pilot seat, his back popping as his body stretches after being locked tensely in one position for too long. Making his way quickly to the airlock, he pauses at the storage locker to snag extra gear in case he needs to rapidly outfit the other pilot for survival in hard vacuum. Activating his own suit so the protective bubble forms over his head and his rebreather kicks in, he moves into the airlock and waits.

Once the lock has sealed on the Redbird’s side, the League ship airlock stutters open. He frowns. Either the other ship is even more severely damaged than he thought, or his protocols are having trouble overcoming the native security systems. Neither thought is reassuring. He needs to hurry.

At least finding his way to the bridge is simple enough. Most League ships seem to be laid out on fairly similar lines, and he’s boarded enough of them over the years to know his way around. The corridors are dimly illuminated with emergency lighting and his HUD shows the temperature is plummeting. Oxygen levels are already on the low side as well. If concentrations drop much lower, the atmosphere will risk causing hypoxia if the pilot isn’t wearing an air-supplying breathing apparatus or at least a rebreather.

He enters the bridge slowly anyway. If he were the one with a compromised ship, this is the moment he’d choose for an ambush.

But the pilot’s body is visible, lying across the floor beside the command console. It looks like he was thrown from the chair, likely during the turbulence resulting from the Redbird’s final, devastating attack. He’s wearing a helmet, thank Tesla, and Tim’s HUD shows he’s unconscious but alive. And…

_Oh._ He was right. It _is_ the Red Hood. Holy Tesla, he just knocked out the Red Hood. If that isn't a stroke for his ego, he doesn't know what is.

Tim approaches slowly, then eyes the man skeptically.

_Oh my fragging stars, _really? _I thought the giant ship was compensating for something, but nope. This guy’s built like a fragging _tank. _He didn’t look quite _this_ big on the viewscreen, for some reason. Great. Now, how am I supposed to lug him out of here? I probably weigh as much as one of his _thighs!

He quickly checks the man over for any critical injuries, relieved to find nothing worse than some minor contusions and a large crack on his helmet which doesn’t bode well for what’s underneath. Hopefully it’s just a bump on the head. All of that can wait.

Grumbling to himself, he manages to half-carry, half-drag the Red Hood back the way he came and onto his own ship. He keeps an eye on the HUD the entire time, alert for any signs the other might be about to awaken and cause problems, but he remains mercifully unconscious the entire time.

“Why do they make assassins so _big _these days?” Tim mutters to himself as he gives up on carrying and just drags the huge man the last couple of meters to the medbay. He deadlifts him onto one of the exam cots, back and arms protesting vigorously. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be smaller so you can, you know, _sneak?”_ This guy doesn’t look like he could do stealth if he tried.

Burden finally laid down, he hurries to secure him. Fortunately, this is far from the first time a Bat ship has carried prisoners, so the table comes equipped with suitable bindings. Once he’s satisfied with the restraints, he reaches out and unlatches the helmet so he can access the head wound to treat it first.

The red helmet releases with a hiss and slides off to reveal something _impossible._

He stares at the person lying before him, but no matter how long he looks he still can’t make sense of what he’s seeing. The man in front of him is _alive_, his slow, steady respiration proof of that incontrovertible fact, but it simply isn’t possible_._

He’s been dead for almost five years now.

Tim knows.

Because this is _Jason Todd._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, fighting for his life against unknown League of Assassins ship: ** *Cracks knuckles* “I got this!” *Throws half a nebula at his unfortunate attacker*  
**League of Assassins ship, crumpling under onslaught: ** “Fml”  
**Tim, boarding ship to save enemy pilot like a good Bat: ** *Recognizes Red Hood, then throws his own back out trying to deadlift larger man off the floor* “Ow! Damn why are you so HEAVY” *Drags man back to ship by his thick, muscular thighs* “You better appreciate this and not try to kill me immediately when you wake up”  
**Red Hood, still unconscious: ** “…”  
**Tim, tying Red Hood to bed in kinkiest manner possible: ** “I swear tying you up is just for safety purposes. Not, uh, anything ELSE” *Starts to administer first aid, removes Red Hood’s helmet. Recognizes dead childhood friend* “Oh FRAG”


	7. Chapter 7

_What?_

Tim stares down at the unconscious man lying on the medical cot before him, eyes tracing every feature. In search of what, he isn’t sure. Proof that this isn’t real?

Maybe… Or proof that it _is._

_I never thought I’d see him again, _he thinks, throat tightening. His eyes begin to sting as he experiences an overwhelming wave of memories which carry long-suppressed emotions he’s spent the past five years learning to ignore. _Even if this is some kind of fake… I’m glad. _His breath hitches as his vision goes blurry. _I’m so glad I got to see him again._

Jason. The man who piloted Robin before him, and died for the cause.

His best friend.

_But… Is this real? And if so… how?_

He can think of a few possibilities. Considering the ship Jason was flying, along with what looks like a cybernetic implant which wraps around his left cheekbone, up his temple and then curls around the top of his eye… Well. Those types of upgrades are distinctive, and diagnostic of something he really doesn’t want to think about right now. If he’s really been the Red Hood for the past few years…

None of this bodes well for Jason.

Tim blinks away the tears, forcing himself to focus. The HUD still shows everything is as it should be, and the ship’s scanners don’t reveal any threats in the room with him. Deciding he’s safe to release the full bio-suit, he presses the trigger to revert back to a simple jumpsuit.

Breathing a sigh of relief at the sensation of cool, fresh air on his face, he scrubs at his eyes, sniffing loudly. Whatever, it’s not every day the enemy trying to kill you turns out to be a long-lost—

His train of thought breaks off as vivid teal eyes snap open and study him closely. The man on the cot narrows his eyes dismissively as he speaks. “Whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get it.”

_Oh, Tesla._

It’s Jason’s _voice._ Those are his eyes, if a little less blue than before, and that’s a very familiar stormy frown gathering on his handsome face. It’s the same look he wore when he found out Tim’s parents spent months on end traveling the galaxy for their company, never even bothering to check up on him while they were away. It used to be his expression when Tim wouldn’t agree to stay safe planetside, instead flying out in one of his family’s skimmers to follow the Bats on their missions in-system and collect footage of their incredible battles and heroism.

It’s the same look he had when he fought with Bruce, in those difficult weeks leading up to his death.

But his _eyes…_ Tim swallows.

Jason _never _looked at him quite like _that _before. With no warmth.

Forcing down a rising sense of dread, Tim bites his lip. He wants to close his eyes, but he needs to face this situation head on if he’s going to be able to figure it out and find a way to deal with it. “Jason?” he asks, hope in his voice even though he _knows _he shouldn’t allow himself the indulgence.

“Who the frag is Jason?” The other man stares at him, still on guard, but his confusion seems genuine.

_Oh, Tesla… No. Jason, no…_

It’s so obvious now what happened. The League must have somehow salvaged Jason’s body from the debris field when his ship was blown up, before the Bats managed to get there. And then, they raised him using their nightmarish tech to make him one of their cyborg army of undead assassins.

Tim’s stomach twists in revulsion at the thought of Jason being violated like that. Suffering all this time while none of them even _knew _he was alive again. And now he doesn’t even appear to recognize Tim from their more recent interactions while he was working with the team. Pru’s words about Red Hood being totally different when his switch is flipped rise up in his mind like a specter. Just how much has the League taken from him _this _time? Does he even _remember _his own team, or are they all merely reduced to targets in his mind?

_I’m sorry, Jay… I’m _so _sorry. But wait…_

“I can fix this,” he whispers under his breath. His mind is finally beginning to respond properly again as the shock of Jason’s unexpected resurrection wears off. “I can _fix _this!” He’s probably wearing a slightly manic grin right now, but he doesn’t care.

_If this is anything like what happened with Z and Owens… What I figured out using the device Pru gave me then should work. Oh Tesla, please let it work._

He doesn’t allow himself to consider the myriad other possibilities which might lead to failure. Such as Jason’s body having been too far gone when he was resurrected for any of his pre-death memories to still exist, or the mechanism used to raise former assassins possibly being different and less permanent than that used on former enemies. He _needs _to believe he can bring Jason, _his _Jason, back.

Otherwise…

Tim sets his jaw and shuts down that line of thought, _hard._

“What the frag are you talkin’ about, kid? You suck at interrogation, by the way. Haven’t even asked a proper question yet or threatened to space me if I don’t cooperate.” Jason’s watching him steadily, a faint smirk in the corner of his mouth which makes Tim _want. _But right now, the most urgent priority is helping the other man shake the League’s hold on him.

And fortunately, Tim actually has a pretty good idea of how to do that. Hopefully.

“I’m not interrogating you!” he snaps, spinning to stride over to the nearest main computer access panel where he immediately calls up a more thorough scan. Now that he’s searching for more than just immediately concerning injuries, the cybernetic implants throughout the other man’s body are showing up.

And…

He breathes out slowly, feeling lightheaded.

The cybernetics _exactly _match the ones which controlled Z and Owens, up until he and Pru enacted their insane jailbreak scheme. Well, might as well find out if the resemblance is only superficial, or if the same basic programming is in place.

Tim enters the root access codes, thanking Tesla when they actually _work._

_Guess Ra’s isn’t that on top of changing his passcodes regularly. Oversight. Well, that’s to our benefit so I’m not exactly complaining. Now for the real test… It’s time to crash the mode._

He executes the jailbreak protocol and then spins to face Jason, not even daring to breathe as he waits for a sign that his desperate attempt to restore the other man’s mind and free will is working. It hadn’t taken very long for Z and Owens to respond and _remember _themselves once the League programming in their implants was disabled.

But they were only controlled for a short time, less than a day. They hadn’t even had any mission orders laid on over their base programming. Maybe it’s easier to restore a mind onto a blank slate than one that’s been overwritten again and again. And their bodies had been in excellent condition when they were turned, with no pre-mortem brain damage to speak of.

Jason, though…

Tim’s vision goes fuzzy and he impatiently blinks back tears. Even if this doesn’t entirely work and the man he knew is gone forever, at least he should be able to succeed in freeing the person he’s become. That’s still a fragging accomplishment.

“Oh, _frag it, _my damn _head. _What the frag did you _do, _Timmy?” Jason’s pained exclamation draws his attention back to the man on the medical cot. Who is staring at him with a puzzled frown, gentle affection in his gorgeous teal eyes.

“Jay?” Tim whispers, unable to quite believe this is even happening right now. Maybe he _did _get stuck in hyper at some point during the fight and he’s just trapped in a slowly collapsing pocket universe imagining beautiful dreams in his last moments.

_If Jason says something hopelessly romantic and perfect right now, I’m going to seriously question the truth of my reality._

“Fraggin’ incandescent gas-balls, Babe, what the _frag _are you _wearing _right now? That shit looks like something Dickie’s wardrobe threw up because even _he _couldn’t handle it.” The bound man lifts a deeply disgusted eyebrow while regarding Tim’s admittedly still very _orange_ jumpsuit. Because of _course _he happened to wear the orange one today instead of one his many red ones.

He snorts, rolling his eyes while chuckling wetly. _Never mind, that’s _definitely _him._

Jason’s frowning up at him now, looking concerned. “Hey, you okay there? Just… I got a lot of _weird _crap in my head right now, and I ain’t exactly sure what’s real. Except you.”

Tim blinks at that, pulling himself back together if only for the sake of the man before him. “Uh, not sure where to start. You wanna give me a rundown of what you think happened, and I’ll fill in the gaps where I can?”

“I got fragged, League picked me up. Moded me. Been doin’ their dirty work ever since, till you started chasing me.” He blinks slowly, frown deepening. “Wait, hold up. When the _frag _did you learn to fly a ship like that? And you were… You were fraggin’ working with my team, what the _frag? _Why weren’t you somewhere _safe? _What are you doing out here in the deep _alone?” _His eyes widen in horror. “Oh frag. You _hyperskipped. _To escape the damn _seeker-missiles _I threw at you. You fought me off in a fraggin’ _dreadnought _while I was trying to _kill you.”_

He begins hyperventilating, apparently totally overwhelmed at the thought of what almost happened, what he nearly _did_. His shoulders are hunched and he’s hiding his face like he’s ashamed.

Well, that’s not acceptable.

Tim reaches for him, cupping his face and gently turning it back so he can see those bright eyes—_alive, _and isn’t that _amazing? _“Hey there, Jay. So, uh… You may have noticed, but I’m actually a pilot now.”

An amused snort slips out even as the other man’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, no shit. How’d that even _happen?”_

He squirms. “I wanted your legacy to go on. And once you were gone… Well. Being in space was the closest I could come to being with you.”

Jason’s silent for a moment, then sighs, long and slow. “Frag. I shoulda _known _you’d turn into a fraggin’ little daredevil the minute I turned my back.”

_That’s not fair!_

“You didn’t turn your back, you _left _me—”

“Ain’t like I had a damn _choice, _kid…”

“I’m not a _kid _anymore, Jason!”

They both freeze, those words falling between them like stones in a still pond. Tim is suddenly achingly aware of the heat of Jason’s body and the sensation of the other man’s stubble against his palm.

_I’m old enough, now._

His breath catches at the thought.

Jason’s eyes darken and his hands twitch like he’s trying to reach for Tim. Or maybe for his Mark.

Tim helps him out, using his free hand to tug back the jumpsuit and expose his own Mark. The constellation mapped over his heart is unique, existing only on himself and one other in all the ‘verse. He doesn’t need to look to know its Match is still there on the other man’s chest, even though he hasn’t seen it in years. Never thought he’d see it again. “I missed you _so much, _Jay,” he manages.

A desperate, choked noise slips from Jason. “Frag, Timmy, you’re all grown up now.” He presses his face into Tim’s hand, seemingly desperate for the contact.

He rubs his thumb gently over his soulmate’s lips, savoring the moment and thinking about the years spent tagging along after this man, idolizing him from afar at first and then learning about friendship at his side. Knowing they were soulmates, but neither of them ever acting on it because they were so sure they’d have plenty of time once they both grew up. Jason in particular had always been achingly careful and protective of his younger soulmate.

The wound of his loss was an agony that never stopped. He’d just gotten used to the pain.

Well. He’s not letting the chance slip away again.

“So, can I finally get that kiss?” Tim blinks back unwanted tears and gives his soulmate a watery smile.

“Not even gonna untie me first?” Jason says with a very _familiar _teasing grin. “Timmy, you kinky fucker!”

No power in the ‘verse could stop the blush suffusing Tim’s face in that moment. _“Oh my Tesla,_ Jason, you ruined the moment.” But he presses the manual release for the restraints, then leans forward to claim his kiss. As their lips touch, he feels strong arms tightening around his shoulders, pulling him close.

A place inside him that’s been hurting and empty for _years _wells up and overflows with a surging joy and he laughs into the kiss while warm hands rub his back.

In a minute, they should probably stop kissing and actually deal with the reality of their situation. The League ship still needs to be processed and then either towed back to a ‘port for delivery to the appropriate authorities or, more likely, fragged to avoid outing Jason as an unwilling former member of the League of Assassins. They need to holo the Bats, no, _Tesla, _they should probably go for an in-person visit. He still owes them that, and this isn’t the kind of news to deliver over holo.

Jason needs a new ship—Tim’s mind is already _spinning _with ideas for incorporating some of the Bat tech with the dreadnought design he so clearly knows how to fly. Maybe they can even make it large enough that the Redbird can be stored in the bay to let them fly together, then separate as needed for missions.

He also _definitely _owes Pru a shiny new photon sword for all this. He smirks, then nuzzles into Jason’s chest as the larger man pulls him onto his lap with a quiet sigh that sounds _perfect _in his ear.

They’ve got a lot to figure out now, but they’ll deal with it.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Red Hood, staring up at Tim with no recognition in his eyes: ** “Who the frag are you?” *Raises an eyebrow at the bondage setup* “I mean, you don’t gotta wine and dine me but I at least wanna know your name first*  
**Tim, blushing and stuttering: ** “OMG this isn’t what it looks like!” *Shakes head, ignores Red Hood’s snickering so he can focus on restoring the man’s mind* “Frag this, I’m crashing the mode before you embarrass us both” *Works his techno magic*  
**Jason, remembering: ** “Holy fraggin’ SHIT Babe I tried to kill you!” *Blinks back tears, looks guilty and horrified at thought of murdering his beloved soulmate*  
**Tim, patting him consolingly: ** “It’s cool, Jay, you were pretty bad at it”  
**Jason, sniffing and brightening: ** “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I? Hey, you gonna untie me before we make out?” *Waggles eyebrows suggestively* “You don’t gotta. I like it with the ropes ON”  
**Tim, smirking and leaning in: ** “Well, we’ll see what we can do…” *Initiates celebratory consummation on med cot. Then on pilot chair. Then in bed, sonic shower, and finally on main computer console. Celebrations end at that point because Jason butt-dials Cave and Dick answers, is suitably delighted at Jason’s resurrection/emotionally scarred by sight of them getting it on together* “No regrets!”  
*  
Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and big thanks to the superlative mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the sprints, betas, and inspiration while I was writing this. Extra thanks to the birthday round robin discord and to Clarityhiding for the birthday prompts around which I built this idea (and also for being awesome).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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